fluted with gold
by WhisperedSilvers
Summary: She tries to make him understand —Yami/Téa


**Fluted with Gold**

 **By: WhisperedSilvers**

 **Prompt: "He filled the emptiness within me."**

 **Summary: She tries to make him understand. —Slight Yami/Téa.**

* * *

"And this happens all the time?"

She nods, the small strands of her hair brushes the underside of her jaw, and the sunlight is bitter against the heavily colored tree. She comments airily, "It's the season of change."

"Would that not be spring?" He asks questioningly, the elegant brow of his rises considerably.

Téa cocks her head to the side, a small, yet knowingly smile curls against her lips, and Yami can't remember if he has ever seen that smile before. It is mysterious, coy maybe and even a bit intimidating. "Spring is known as the beginning. Fall—autumn is known as change."

The question leaves his mouth without his consent, "And you like change?"

She blinks slowly, the stiffening of her spine tries to ease itself back into a slouch, because the question takes her off guard and she tries to think of a suitable, but appropriate answer, "Change is inevitable. I don't have to like it. But it happens."

Yami asks again, his eyes glitter when he sees the reddish leaves that glint with mahogany and sunny amber's that gently glide to the ground with the crisp air of this unknown season, called fall, "That is not what I asked."

Téa purses her lips, "Yes."

A pause, he is hesitant when he inquires, "And you don't fear it?"

It comes as a surprise when she laughs. She curls a finger and motions for him to follow her. They walk, slightly too fast and slightly too slow, she comes across a glass window in the middle of town, a vendor is outside, "Fall is one of the best seasons," She buys two lattes, "Pumpkin-spice lattes, cinnamon, cakes, and pies," She gives him a cup and they walk back to the park, "It's cool enough to wear a sweater, but warm enough not to wear a coat."

They sit on a bench, Téa sips her latte, her hair darker than chestnuts, and she speaks again, "I can't really explain it to you. You have to experience it."

He frowns as he tries to understand.

Téa knows what it's like to feel confusion, but that's what makes learning so _enjoyable._

Yami looks at the leaves that decorate the tree. There are shades of red, purple, brown, gold and even brown. The wind blows again; it's gentle and crisp. He thinks he can compare it to cold water, but dry water. The leaves fall again; they caress the air and fall onto the ground. The grass is green, and the wind blows again. It's smells clean, sweet maybe, and the sunlight is warm—glittering in scorched ochre, the sky isn't blue, it's pale lavender.

It's nothing like Egypt.

He listens to the lectures when he goes to school, Egypt is warm—hot, scorching even. It's sandy, with barely any trees and dry.

It is different, he concludes.

He has the paper carton in his hand, and delicately he sips the drink.

He does not remember smiling.

But Téa does, she hides a grin with her cup, "I think you're understanding now."

Yami doesn't lie, "I have to admit Téa," He doesn't notice the way her grip tightens around her cup, "This feeling…" He trails off, before looking at her, his eyes are burgundy, just like the tree above them, it reminds her of her brick fireplace she has at home, and "It's starting to grow on me."

And Téa, she tries, she tries so hard not to acknowledge the double implications, because despite her love of change, it terrifies her as well.

She swallows her nervousness, her anxiety, and manages to give him a small smile, she replies, "It does that to you—just have to accept it."

He nods, he clearly does not understand what she's trying to explain, but the wind blows again, this time it's a bit harsher than he likes, but the leaves on the ground fly away, the cobblestone path revealing itself to him, and he tries not to laugh when some of the leaves gets stuck in her hair.

She sighs, slightly amused and slightly exasperated. She begins to pick the leaves that are tangled inside her short hair, and comments, "One of the drawbacks of fall."

He chuckles, "I suppose."

She places her latte on the ground, grasping small strands of hair the pluck the leaves, and "You're just lucky you don't have any—I took most of the wind."

"Ah," Yami remarks and there is a twinkle in his eyes that she wishes she didn't notice, "Such a noble feat, I express my gratitude for shielding your king."

Téa blinks, the incredulity and shocks her system is almost laughable. She's never heard him speak like that—haughty and teasing—it's a novel experience. She doubts that this sprightly moment will last, because once they leave this bubble of theirs, and they go back to the saving the world—moments will be serious and intense.

"Allow me to reward you for your bravery, dear Téa." He breaks her out of her disbelief by removing the leaves that are tangled in mahogany hair; his fingers are nimble and gentle. He's so close to her that she can feel his eyes on her—it didn't matter at the moment, because she's in such shock at his playful, and perhaps, light attitude—she cannot come up with a perfectly normal and easy remark.

Perhaps she should not have spoken her thoughts aloud, "Since when are you my king?"

Yami's fingers pause when he grasps the last leaf.

 _Goddammit._

He pulls back holding the last leaf, wine orbs are cautious, but still airy and gentle, "Do you want me to be?"

And suddenly she can't breathe.

She doesn't know what to say, he is too close, his eyes are too bright and she can smell the spices of cinnamon and cloves, but she has to think. So she cooled her frantic thoughts, because mindless reflections and pointless _what ifs,_ are not going to save her.

They are in a place where there is no ground, they are friends, but their fleeting comments and wispy looks have them dancing around like the wind around them.

So, Téa pretends that he is Joey or Tristan, and uses her pointer finger to poke him in the forehead, he blinks and she frowns, "I think you've been hanging out with Joey and Tristan for too long. You're starting to pick up their mannerisms," Her blue eyes are crystal, "Keep your feet on the ground, not in the air like those two morons."

Yami rubs his forehead, not used from abuse—not used from abuse, especially from Téa. He looks like he wants to frown, she bites the inside of her cheek, grabbing her latte from the ground.

He remarks with gold in his eyes, "I'm always on the ground, Téa."

She laughs when she realizes that he does not understand the idiom.

Some things never change and sometimes, that's good too.


End file.
